


New Arrangements

by 0positiv



Category: James Asher Vampire Series - Barbara Hambly, Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 02:11:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11911053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/0positiv/pseuds/0positiv
Summary: The Folly has an unwelcome visitor.





	New Arrangements

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic in the same crossover universe as [For King and Country](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11845428) but a couple decades later.

Since it seemed to have become the new favourite sport of the  _ demi-monde _ to try and mind control me I seem to have built up a bit of a resistance to things like  _ seducere _ . It also seems to have made it easier to recognise them when someone is trying to use them on me.

So when I started to feel tired and like there really wouldn’t be anything better than falling asleep on top of my Latin translation in progress - not an unusual feeling really, when I’m confronted with Latin - I didn’t think much of it at first. But something didn’t feel quite right about all of it. I hadn’t been tired in the slightest only a moment ago and I surely couldn’t have got  _ this  _ tired in just a few seconds. It felt more like I’d been out all night trying to tame a riot rather than having a disturbingly quiet day at the Folly with no ‘weird bollocks’ being reported at all. And even though the sun had set about an hour ago it was not even close to my usual bedtime yet.

Shaking my head to try and clear it I sat up straighter. Something was definitely rotten in the state of Denmark (I took Nightingale to see that play a month ago, I am not sure whether he liked it or not. I thought it was ok).

Getting up from my chair felt like someone had sneakily replaced all my bones with lead and I was really hoping there wasn’t a  _ forma _ for that, or if there was that Nightingale knew how to reverse it. When I’d finally managed to get upright I found that walking was hardly any easier. I kept stumbling into things when my eyelids kept slipping shut if I stopped concentration on keeping them open. It felt a bit like being drunk but without the nice buzz alcohol gives you.

I made my bumbling way over to the magical library, wishing it were closer and hoping Nightingale would still be in there and had not decided to go wandering off. I really didn’t think I would be able to manage searching the whole house for him.

To my great relief he was just where I’d left him an hour ago, seated in one of the armchairs with a book open on the table in front of him and another on his lap. He had been looking up pixies (don’t ask why, you don’t want to know, trust me, it gave  _ me _ nightmares for weeks).

Nightingale’s eyes were closed and his head was resting against the headrest in a way that would be sure to give him a crick in his neck. His mouth was hanging open slightly and he was snoring a tiny bit. If I hadn’t been so tired I might even have risked turning on my phone and taking a picture. As things were I could barely manage to get my feet to move those last few steps towards him.

It didn’t wake him when I collapsed against the chair and nearly knocked it over. The book slid from his lap and hit the floor with a noise that sounded as loud as a thunderclap in the oppressive quiet of the library. Still Nightingale didn’t stir. 

The pressure in my head seemed to intensify for a second before it vanished as suddenly as it had come. While I was still in a bit of shock from suddenly feeling wide awake again a gravely voice behind me growled: “Yer a bullheaded one, aren’t you?”

Turning around a bit awkwardly and getting my legs tangled I found myself sitting with my back against the chair instead of standing protectively in front of it and Nightingale as I had originally planned.  

I lined up the  _ forma _ for one of my skinny grenades while giving our uninvited guest my full attention.

A man stepped into the library looking as tall and broad as a wardrobe on steroids from where I was sitting. He had black hair slicked back over a pockmarked face and a coat dripping rainwater clutched in one of his big hands. There was no weapon I could see which of course didn’t mean he wasn’t armed. He was dressed in an old fashioned pin stripe suit that made him look like a mobster from one of those noir movies. 

For a moment my mind wandered trying to remember the name of the character he reminded me off when suddenly he was in front of me and gripping the front of my shirt to pull me to my feet. The lined up  _ forma _ fell apart in my head and I found myself rather undignifiedly manhandled into the armchair opposite of Nightingale.

The intruder stood behind me, hands on my shoulders and something that felt more like claws than fingernails tapping against my neck.

“Now, jus’ stay calm, boy, and don’t try nothing stupid. I’m just here to talk to your master.”

When I opened my mouth to tell him Nightingale wasn’t my master the claws dug deep into my shoulders finding the bundle of nerves running from the neck to the arm. I would love to say I took it stoically without making a sound but I fear I might have whimpered, just a bit.

So apparently talking was considered to be something stupid then, check. It’s not like my tongue hadn’t got me into trouble before.

Nightingale awoke with a start and I could feel him lining up some kind of higher level  _ forma  _ before he’d even opened his eyes. I was definitely very impressed with that.

When his eyes snapped open he took in the situation in a heartbeat and lowered the hand he’d started to lift, no doubt to throw a fireball if necessary. 

“Don’t fret, wizard, I haven’t hurt your whelp. I merely thought we should talk. There are certain things come to my attention lately that need to be addressed.”

Crossing his legs and folding his hands Nightingale looked way too much at ease for having who knows what kind of member of the  _ demi-monde _ sneak into the Folly and taking us by surprise like this.

“I am all ears, yet I would prefer it if you unhanded my apprentice right this instant.”

The stranger made a sound that could have been a laugh or maybe a cough.

“An’ have you hex me the second he’s out of my reach? I think not. We’ll all stay just where we are, we shall talk, like civilized gents, and if we come to an accord I shall be on my way and your boy none the worse for wear.”

Nightingale’s eyes flicked down towards mine, silently asking me if that was agreeable or if he should fireball the guy anyway. Since the claws were tapping against the pulse point in my neck currently - in time with my racing heart, I might add, which was just plain creepy - I merely nodded and hoped we’d somehow managed to get out of this without anybody getting disemboweled. 

Where was Molly with her sharpened kitchen knives when you really needed someone to stab an intruder in the back? Asleep in the kitchen, I learned later, with Toby curled up in her lap equally asleep and failing terribly at being a guard dog.

“As you wish, Mr…?” Nightingale looked up questioningly at the intruder.

“None of your business what my name is, wizard, but you can call me Mr. Graves.” I tried very hard and failed not to roll my eyes at all the cloak and dagger nonsense but thankfully ‘Mr. Graves’ didn’t see it, or if he did see it he decided it wasn’t a punishable offence.

“What business brings you to the Folly then, Mr. Graves?”

The claws stopped drumming against my skin and cold hands settled fully on my shoulders as Graves leaned forward slightly.

“Word on the streets is that you’ve stopped sulkin’ since you got the whelp and that you’re back in the business of keeping the peace the way you’re supposed to.”

Nightingale’s nostrils flared at the accusation but he merely nodded in response.

“Usually my kind, we take care of our own and keep to ourselves. Them others have found it wiser to leave us be and we have no use for them. It’s a system that has worked well since before my time. But now one of those river wenches, the one calling herself Tyburn I was told, has been meddling in my affairs.”

My eyebrows lifted at the mention of Lady Ty and I might have let out a little groan. What kind of trouble was she stirring now?  

“She’s been talking to my fledglings, trying to turn them against me, telling them I’m standing in the way of progress. I can not allow her to bring dissent and unrest, maybe even a war for mastery of the city, that would draw undue attention from the living. Usually, if she weren’t who she is, I’d have taken care of her already, but  _ that _ might bring me a war with her family which is just as undesirable.”

I was still not 100% sure what exactly our Mr. Graves was but it was starting to sound suspiciously like vampires. And not the kind Nightingale had shown me before. I’ve seen enough horror movies to know what kind of beings usually talk about fledglings. Curiouser and curiouser, in a very creepy and most likely deadly way.

Nightingale made a posh ‘please go on,I’m listening’ gesture with one hand towards Graves and chanced a quick look my way to check if I was still alright.

“Ev’n though I’ve been here long ere either of those wenches was even born they do undeniably have power over the water and other things in London. But if I have to I shall deal with this inconvenience the direct way and damn the consequences.”

I was pretty sure neither of us wanted that to happen. I definitely didn’t, and not just because Beverley might be in danger. I was quite aware that she was, when you got right down to it, much more capable at keeping out of trouble than I was. Also, she could take care of herself, as she’d tell me if I even dared to mention I was worried for her.

“So what exactly do you wish us to do, Mr. Graves”, Nightingale asked.

“Don’t act dafter than you are. Talk to the wench, of course. Convince her to stop meddling in affairs not her own.”

“Lady Tyburn has never particularly cared for my advice, I fear. I shall bring your concerns to her attention but I have little hope that she would take it well, especially coming from me.”

“I don’t care how you do it but you will make her stop or you, and your boy, will regret it.”

The hands on my shoulders tightened again and I must have made some kind of pained noise because Nightingale uncrossed his legs and leaned forward aggressively.

“You do not want to threaten me or my apprentice, Mr. Graves, it would not end well for you.”

They entered into a staring match that I feared might escalate into flying fireballs and me trying to dodge claws aiming for my throat so, to break the tension, I lifted my hand like I was a student in class trying to get the teacher to notice me.

I felt his grip relax as Mr. Graves and Nightingale both seemed slightly surprised by the gesture but at least it broke their stalemate.

“Yes, Peter”, Nightingale said, his voice still strained but a fond smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I think we could...facilitate negotiations between Lady Ty and Mr. Graves. I am sure she’d react much more positively to a less authoritarian approach to this problem. We could arrange a meeting, both parties can send representatives and arrange for legal counsel, if they wish?”

Nightingale looked up at Graves, waiting for his decision on my suggestion. 

Graves barked out a short laugh.

“I like your boy, wizard. He’s got a quick head on his shoulders. Fine, I shall give your negotiations a try. Make the arrangements and contact me under this number.”

He dropped a business card into my lap and suddenly me and Nightingale were the only ones in the library. It felt like waking from a nap and if I didn’t still have the card in my hands and the pain in my shoulders I might have believed it all to have been a dream.

I was just opening my mouth to comment, no doubt most wittily, on the situation when Molly came storming into the library, her biggest butcher knives in her hands and her teeth bared searching for the intruder. Toby came running in on her heels, yapping excitedly, maybe hoping the intruder was made of sausages.

“He’s gone, Molly, and no harm done. But I think we could all use a cup of tea, don’t you, Peter?”

Personally, I could have done with something stronger but I guessed I might just save that for when I have to tell Lady Ty that a mobster vampire wants to have a talk with her. Yes, that was going to be a piece of cake...one of those really hard and inedible ones...


End file.
